Resuming Function
by QuintossentialGray
Summary: A glimpse into what Peter and Sylar's lives could be like following the events of the season 4 finale 'A Brave New World'. Slash fic, warnings for adult sexual content, one instance of language, and spoilers for the entire series. M/m.


Water continued to spiral down from the spout of the showerhead until a crank of the knob reduced it to a singular drip. Sylar stood in the steamy shower stall with his palms pressed flat against the wall in front of him—his body angled slightly as he braced himself against the small portion of dry tile. It was the perfect time of day to stop and take a moment to reflect and prepare. Sylar knew that within this changing landscape of the World that what he did today would help make or break the nascent movement they were all now a part of. He opened his eyes again and stood up straight before he left the shower—the black hotel towel removed from the bar it was draped over as he walked to the vanity mirror above the sink. Lately, he found himself looking into mirrors more than he had in the past. It was never out of some egotistical urge—it was a need for constant reassurance.

Since the evening he killed James Martin and took shape-shifting on as his own—Sylar had experienced some difficulties with the erratic ability. Even before the added complication of a very strong mind-fuck courtesy of Matt Parkman, it had proven to have a mind of its own. While he stood before the mirror Sylar took the time to carefully examine his own features. Everything from the shape of his eyes to the look of his teeth were checked, and then checked again before he moved on to the rest of his body. There were tell-tale warning signs that something could be wrong which Sylar always knew to check for. Nathan had a scar on his chin and the former Agent Taub had astigmatism in one eye. Once Sylar was sure he had none of those inconsistencies or any others—he left the bathroom with the towel dropping behind him so he could go and get dressed.

After his undershirt and boxers were on he wandered back into the bathroom. Taking another glance in the mirror, Sylar ran his fingertips over the dark stubble lacing his jaw and chin. The way he presented himself today was essential. He didn't feel like a full-on clean shave would achieve the look he wanted, so he just took out his beard trimmer and cleaned up the overall growth. Once satisfied, he moved back into the room to finish getting dressed. A few minutes later, Sylar ran a comb carefully through his hair to shape it when there was a knock on the door to his room. He walked over as he believed it to be one of the handlers who had come to retrieve him. As soon as he opened the door, however, he was relieved at the person standing in front of him—even just a few short months ago this would not have been the case.

"Forget something? I knew you'd be annoyed if you didn't have it. Not after you went all over the city trying to find one." Peter stood there with a black tie accented with white striping in his hand as he looked up at Sylar. Sure enough Sylar had apparently gone all over trying to find what he called a decent necktie. And then he went and left it on the dresser before he left in the morning—must have been nerves at work for the normally detail-oriented man. Lately, Sylar had been staying at Peter's apartment as they both entered into this 'brave new world' together. It was just until Sylar could find a place of his own they both agreed. Peter didn't have another bed for him to sleep on, so Sylar slept on an air mattress that Peter had pulled out from the hall closet.

"Thanks Peter. I…hadn't even noticed it wasn't in my things yet. I'm so stressed out right now." He stood back and motioned Peter inside of the room as he walked over to the vanity mirror at the dresser. A hand smoothed over his hair one more time as Peter walked over with him and handed him the tie. Sylar took it and began to stick up the collar of his shirt so he could put it on while seeing what he was doing. As he began to tie it in the familiar way he knew how from his days in Catholic school he glanced over at Peter from the mirror's reflection.

"How did I get myself into this again?" Sylar made his final knot and straightened his necktie as Peter walked over and stood in front of him. Before Sylar could stop him, Peter's hands were at the necktie, undoing the knot and pulling it loose again.

"Yeah I learned how to tie them first back in school too, but you need a different knot. This one will look better with the jacket, trust me." He began tying it in a much more complicated fashion that resulted in the knot being a bit wider than the first one.

"And you got into this because that guy came over to us after Claire jumped, and you were too pumped up on adrenaline to say no. I guess it's good that someone else is speaking out, and I think it'll be good for you." Peter moved over and picked up the jacket from where it was hung up near the mirror.

He handed it to Sylar and sure enough, when it was on and his shirt collar was down, the tie looked much better this way. Peter also reached into his own jacket to retrieve a small silver bar—a tie clip. Without a word, Peter stepped in front of Sylar again and slid it in place onto his tie. Sylar glanced down at it as he wondered what the point of it was exactly, but it did look nice against the material.

"I think it might. I spent way too much of my life in the shadows. Going out of my way to not be seen, or be accountable for anything I'd do. I want to start fresh and what better time to do it?" Of course, he wouldn't be announcing that past to the World. The name Sylar wasn't one he could use on television, or with anyone except someone like Peter. There was something about Peter saying his actual birth-name though, that didn't sound right. Like they didn't have such a complicated past which had brought them to the place where they could both grow beyond past transgressions.

"Ready? This thing is supposed to happen at two, right?" Peter checked his watch which now ran perfectly and it was about five until two o' clock right then. Sylar nodded and made sure his jacket was straight before he gave his hair one more touchup.

"Are you sure that I can't talk you into doing this on-camera too?" Sylar glanced over at Peter before he walked over to the door of his room. He could feel his nerves starting up in a way that they hadn't for months. During that time, he was either stuck thinking he was Nathan, or he was trapped in the persona he'd created for himself. Both of which never spoke to how he really felt at the time.

Peter moved past Sylar and walked out into the hallway first. At first he primarily felt responsible to keep an eye on Sylar to make sure he didn't just fall off the radar and into bad habits again. But despite his expectation, they actually managed to keep up with the bond they created in the nightmare world Matt Parkman fashioned inside of Sylar's mind. There was guilt involved, but that seemed to lessen gradually whenever they were together—Peter was finally seeing the real man he never was allowed to over the past few years. As with any pair of people, it just became important to learn what not to talk about.

"I don't really want any of the spotlight that's going to come from this. Hell, I just want to go back to work, but I doubt that I can." Both men moved down the hallway to the elevator. Once they were inside, Peter pushed the button for the correct floor before Sylar did. He settled back onto his heels with his arms folded over his chest while the doors closed in front of them. Sylar's fingers lightly grazed over the silken material of the necktie—toying with the knot briefly as he suddenly remembered something he stumbled upon accidentally the other day.

"What about the articles? All of those newspaper clippings of events you saved people during…that counts as spotlight, Peter." Peter craned his neck over and gave a slight half-smile. He rubbed the back of his neck as he pictured Sylar looking over each and every newspaper clipping carefully.

"That's different. And I won't ask you how you found those in the first place when they're all supposed to be packed away." Sylar shrugged and felt to see if a hair had gone out of place since they left the room. It wasn't like him to preen so much, but this was different than just walking around in the city.

"The other day I was trying to find a spare blanket so I went looking for one in the hall closet. You weren't back yet, or I would have asked. And underneath this folded flag with some pins on it I found the box of clippings. You've done a lot of good with your abilities, Peter and you should be proud of that."

Peter didn't hear Sylar's compliment because as soon as the man mentioned the 'folded up flag with pins on it', every word that followed couldn't be deciphered. It felt as if he were suddenly in a vacuum as all of the air left the room. Just as he felt the day that he was presented with the flag. When a member of the military dies, at the funeral each member of the family is presented with a folded flag that has duplicates of every medal they received during their service. His mother was presented hers as was customary to do during the actual funeral itself. Peter's flag was delivered by a man in his 'dress blues' uniform at his apartment two days later. They weren't finished with it in time due to the last-minute nature of the faked service.

"You know, just because I'm letting you stay at my place that doesn't mean you can dig through my things when I'm not there. Next time, just wait for me to get back." He spoke tersely, but that flag was one of the constant reminders of the exchange that life had forced upon Peter. His brother was gone, and now he had only the man who had made that so left here with him. That act was never forgotten and still never completely forgiven. The door opened and Peter made his way out of the tiny space with the hope that he would be able to breathe again. Sylar stood there as rejected as only Peter could ever make him feel until he slowly walked out of the elevator and into the hall as well.

"I wasn't digging through your things, Peter. I don't even want to be living there, but I don't have much choice in the matter, do I? Would you prefer it if left? I can, you know, I can just get this over with and then go." Sylar's raised voice echoed down the hall as he stomped after Peter as the man strode down the hall at a brisk clip. What this threat was meant to accomplish wasn't entirely clear to Sylar—he just knew that he hated when Peter did this without explaining himself. It pissed him off to no end that Peter would never tell him what he had done wrong.

"I don't want you leaving. We both know that isn't going to be a good thing. I want you around so I can keep an eye on you. Someone has to." Peter stopped in front of the door of the room where the interview was going to be filmed. Sylar caught up to him and looked down at him—his eyes obviously showing that he was hurt that not only did Peter imply he wasn't ready to be fully trusted, but that it was likely still true. Much of his current life had the same tenuous grip on sanity and control as that of an addict. If Sylar had one bad night, then there was no way of knowing if he could keep on resisting his urges. The want to feel the simplest motion on his behalf take control of another's life and then snuff it out. His hand reached out to settle on Peter's shoulder as he firmly gripped onto him.

"Peter, listen to me, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have invaded your privacy even more than I already have. I'm glad you're here. You…you've done what no one else could, and I'm grateful to you for that. Your dream gave me a new purpose—a better one than any I'd tried to have before." Peter looked over at the hand on his shoulder. He set his own hand on top of the other man's for a moment as the barely discernible passing of ability occurred.

"I know. Listen I just came by to drop off your tie—I have a few things that I need to do. You'll be able to handle this on your own, Sylar." Peter removed his hand and Sylar followed suit. Sylar wanted to express to Peter how much he wanted him to stay with him for this, or ask what he could do to show he was sorry for whatever it was he did that had Peter suddenly distant.

Instead, Sylar cleared his throat and straightened his jacket as he turned toward the door. His hands grazed over the tie-clip and a sudden flash of images streamed through his mind—all of them memories from Nathan. What could that mean, why would Peter want him to have something today that was clearly a belonging of his late brother? Moments like this were so confusing for Sylar—sometimes it seemed that Peter wanted him to be Nathan's stand-in just as much as he loathed the idea of it.

"Right… I won't mess this up, I know what not to say, and we'll keep it brief." Peter went back down the hall as Sylar knocked on the door and was let in by a producer awaiting his arrival. Before the door closed, Peter took a glance over his shoulder to watch Sylar go inside the room.

Already he felt bad about giving Sylar the brush-off, but he needed Sylar to believe that he could definitely go on this new path in his life on his own at times. Though Peter certainly knew that his regular presence was something of a requirement for the killer's rehabilitation attempt—and deep down he liked not being alone right now either. He hoped that maybe giving him something that Nathan wore frequently during interviews and speeches might help him summon some strange connection to Nathan's ease at being in the public eye.

A man in a charcoal Brooks Brothers suit sat in the far corner of the room as he looked over his notes while the makeup girl finished up with him. Admittedly, he was nervous about what this was going to be like. The man who had introduced himself as Gabriel at the carnival walked into the room and was ushered over to his own makeup person before he sat down in the chair that had been set out for the filming. Sylar's eyes roamed around the room as he noted all the details of the set—things that were carefully kept out of view of the cameras.

Each member of the crew was careful not to disturb the expertly executed display that was the fabricated intimate setting. Rolls of cable were taped into place on the floor and around furniture. There was fabric hanging behind one wall to make a simple background as well as add to the illusion of this being a set rather than a set-dressed hotel room. A simple flower arrangement of crimson Dahlias was placed on a table near to where the interviewer would be seated to add to the relaxed ambiance.

"Gabriel, I'm so glad that you agreed to do this. Are you alright, is there anything I can have them get for you before we begin?" The man he'd met at the carnival, Max Benson, shook his hand and sat down across from him as they prepared to start filming.

"No, I'm fine, and thank you again for having me here to do this. I'm somewhat surprised that no one else has taken Claire's lead to show themselves to the World. I guess they're all afraid of a witch-hunt. I'm not entirely sure why I'm not." He chuckled softly, genially; Sylar knew why that was never much of an issue to him. The government couldn't take him down when they'd taken in nearly all of the others, and that is bound to make a man somewhat cocky about his chances of avoiding such situations in the future.

"I'm sure that more will after this airs, and that was the first thing I wanted to bring up with you. The first question I'm going to ask you is how you felt that night after Claire Bennet jumped. We'll edit that footage in before what we film today. The idea from the network is to try and do an entire two-hour special on this scientific phenomena. Get interviews with other "specials"—maybe use today's film reel to inspire them to come forward. We'll ask about what it was like when you discovered you were different, and then maybe a demonstration of your abilities? I know that you wanted to keep this short, and again, we really appreciate you giving us your time like this. " Max checked over his notes again as the lights around both men were adjusted to try and get the most flattering lighting for the cameras to work with. Sylar thought it was good that they clearly wanted to keep it brief as much as he did.

"Yes, I think that all sounds fine to me. I'm ready whenever your people are." He gave one more glance to the door before filming began. Part of him hoped that maybe sometime during the interview he could look up and Peter would just be standing there. However, he knew that right now he needed to stop thinking about that and focus on what he was going to say—deal with Peter later on when they were both at the apartment again. Max began the interview as Sylar reminded himself of the mental checklist of topics not to let slip past his lips during this session.

"It all began with a girl. One young woman who had the courage to show the World that not only was she different than her peers and elders, but that she was an example of the next step in man's evolution. By now, you've probably seen the footage of Claire Bennet, the indestructible girl, falling to what would have been a sure death for the majority of the population as she stood up and healed before the World's eyes. The act of a single girl brought on a multitude of questions that are only now in the process of receiving answers. One of the more prevalent queries being: what are the other 'specials' like? With us today, we have a man who was there that fateful night and who shares in the former secret of Claire Bennet and reportedly dozens, if not hundreds, of other people. Gabriel thank you for joining us today."

"Thank you for having me, Max." Using his first name only would make him seem friendlier than keeping to a curt reply of 'Mr. Benson'. Just the slightest hint of a smile crossed over his lips as Sylar sat up in his chair a little more. His eyes remained focused on the man interviewing him as opposed to the camera across from him—Sylar always thought it was so tacky when someone stared directly into the camera.

"Let's begin with the events of that evening. Did you know that when Claire Bennet took that sixty-five foot plunge that she would walk away from it?" Sylar took a quick moment to form his response without getting into the uglier aspects of Claire and he's interactions over the past three or so years.

"I have seen Claire heal from a multitude of injuries. From the moment I realized why she was climbing onto the Ferris wheel, I knew she'd be fine. It was such a rush…the realization that nothing would ever be the same. That this wasn't something that could be covered up or buried." He took a sip from the glass of water on the stand at his side just out of frame. Sylar thought briefly at how, if the girl wanted to, Claire could present a pretty damning tale of his former indiscretions. All he could hope for was that she wouldn't, and he could really get the chance to start anew.

"I could only imagine what that must have felt like for you to witness a single act that would expose your shared secret. I wanted to ask you what it was like for you when you first discovered you were different. What did it feel like on that day Gabriel?" This was all lead-up for Benson, as he really wanted to see what it was that Gabriel could do. The idea that the World wasn't just changing—but had already changed, was both thrilling and frightening to anyone left behind from evolution's largest step forward.

"It was…Well, it was amazing. Like the culmination of every childhood dream, or game of make-believe all coming true at once. I mean, who hasn't wanted to be special?" Though he smiled and his eyes were bright while he spoke—Sylar knew what it really felt like for him on that day. All he could truly remember was the one selfish act that would be known to him now as a harbinger of so many more to come. But that was so long ago now that Sylar could probably convince himself it happened the way he would learn to lie about it.

"Can we see it? I haven't been fortunate enough to witness anything other than Ms. Bennet's healing capability—can you show America what you do, Gabriel?" Every single crew member moved in as close as they could without getting into the frame. Sylar was more than mildly amused at the fleeting thought that if he really showed everyone there what he 'does', they wouldn't be so eager to see it again. However, that was a life he wanted to leave behind so he focused on the only living thing in the room that wouldn't ruin all of his progress—the Dahlias on the stand. With a single swipe of his hand through the air, every last Dahlia was sliced clean of its respective stem.

"That's not the only one—I have several." His own eyes were transfixed on the scattering of the shredded petals. It looked so much like pooling blood when they collected on the floor in a small pile. Sylar stood up and lifted them up into the air with aid of more telekinesis as he allowed the petals to float in front of the camera lens for a moment before he brought them over to his hand. The demonstration continued as he closed his eyes and felt the familiar surge of electrical current flow through his body and blast out of his fingertips—emit from his very palm. Nothing but ashes remained which he promptly dusted away from his hand before he settled back in his chair again.

"…That was stunning, Gabriel. Thank you for allowing us to see that, and for talking to us today." Sylar watched as the bright blue current crackled over his hand for another moment then smiled as it dissipated from his fingertips. His heart hadn't pounded this hard in his chest in such a long time. It was a rush to so freely show something that people thought should remain in the dark.

"Thank you for having me, Max."

Lately, Sylar had taken to carrying a bag with him places. It was just a simple black messenger bag that wasn't very different than the backpack he hauled around for what felt like years—but it really proved to be a nice convenience. Currently he had the tie and borrowed tie-pin neatly placed inside before he zipped it up. A soft knock at his dressing room door made Sylar's eye twitch. He wondered if it was Peter, but he soon found that it was just Max Benson again.

"Oh good I wanted to come and tell you how much I, personally, have appreciated getting the chance to do this. I can only hope the rest go as well as this one did Gabriel." Sylar hadn't even told Benson his full name during their limited interactions. No need to unbury any of the phantoms of his past with a simple Google search.

"It was really my pleasure to do it. Just…out of the sake of curiosity, who else are you contacting?" His last name being televised or not, Sylar still had mines to avoid being stepped on to go on with this chance at a new life. The main two being Matt Parkman and Noah Bennet, but he believed that Matt wouldn't agree to any sort of press in the name of protecting his child. As for Bennet, well he could talk about the Company—if all of the documents of its existence and its files weren't currently in the possession of Angela Petrelli.

"Well, Claire Bennet is, of course, the big 'get'. Last I heard we were getting rather close to a sit-down with her and perhaps her adoptive mother. Oh, and there's a man who's father apparently spearheaded research on this genetic phenomena years ago—published too, but no one ever believed him. Anyway, the man's son is who we're trying to strike a deal with. Have you ever heard of a Doctor Chandra Suresh, or perhaps his son, Mohinder? I know he's recently contacted a few so-called 'Enhanced Humans' for a book project of his own."

Once the bag was slung comfortably over his shoulder, Sylar moved to the doorway where Max was standing. He rubbed his thumb over the middle knuckle of his right hand. Gloves or not—when he took Chandra Suresh's life from the backseat of that taxicab, he still received a decent cut from a stray shard of glass. Whenever someone said Chandra's name, that knuckle always seemed to tingle suddenly. As for Mohinder, well, their history together really was so formative for Sylar that it was something he badly needed to keep entirely to himself. He didn't even want to tell Peter anything about it, and he had already told that man more about the most mundane personal details of his life than anyone else.

"We've met." Sylar and Max shook hands before he continued walking down the hall, back to the elevator so he could catch a taxi before rush hour hit. Once he managed to flag one down outside of the building, Sylar told the driver to take him to the nearest comic book shop. Sure, he could just as soon leap up and fly off to find one anywhere, but Sylar enjoyed his current anonymity too much to make a spectacle like that right in the middle of the city. Much as he did in the world of Matt Parkman's making, he wanted to try and get Peter a token of both appreciation and apology. Nearly nine city blocks worth of commute lead Sylar to a Sam's Comics that wasn't so dissimilar from the one he went to in the dreamscape world of his mind. Except for in this one, he would have to encounter other people.

Inside the shop was a small group of people scattered around the room—each at a different shelf as they perused the latest issues of their favorite series. Sylar strolled in as the shop's bell clanged noisily behind him. No one looked up at the door—not even the employees who were currently engaged in what sounded like a very passionate debate behind the counter. From the moment Peter appeared on those once-empty streets, Sylar felt something that at the time he couldn't explain. But he had since figured out that it had to be some sort of state of shared consciousness between himself and Peter. How else would he know the guy really enjoyed comic books?

First he walked over to the shelf that he spotted some Flash comics on. All he could hope was that Peter hadn't bought one for a while and he wouldn't wind up getting him one he already had. As he picked one up and thumbed idly through it, a young man in his early twenties was looking over the titles in the box next to Sylar. After a few minutes of reading a page here and there—Sylar decided that this was the one he'd get Peter—_Flash: The Secret of Barry Allen by Geoff Johns_. He closed the comic and turned to leave when he realized something about the young man standing next to him. A glance at the issue clenched tightly in his hands revealed the reason why Sylar was being stared at.

Sylar hadn't seen a real issue of 9th Wonders in quite some time. His eyes moved to meet with the young man's then he reached out to gently pry the comic book from his hands. It was the issue featuring the 'climactic battle at Kirby Plaza', and he could understand now why he was getting stared at. The layout was the battle between Hiro Nakamura and Sylar himself—the exact moment the Kensei sword plunged deeply into his chest. Arguably, it was the panel where the rendering looked most like Sylar and he certainly had a presence that followed him into a room if someone like the shocked young man next to him noticed it.

His left hand moved to absently settle on his side as he looked down at the comic for a few minutes. Sylar always assumed that once he had Claire Bennet's healing ability that all of his past scars would disappear. Not so, in fact it seemed to only be the wounds he would receive from that day forth. A scrape on his leg from childhood remained, a few marks from accidents while mending his timepieces, and that sword scar.

Sylar's eyes gazed across the panels down to the one where his body lay flat on the ground—bleeding out and motionless. The narration bubble exclaimed how evil had been defeated and good triumphed. Just the corners of his mouth twitched in amusement at that as he looked back at the man he took the book from. He set the issue down on top of a stack of comics in one of the file boxes.

"It didn't happen that way. Trust me." With the Flash issue tucked under his arm Sylar turned and walked away from the boxes to where the two clerks seemed to be engaged in another argument as he walked up to the counter. Sylar set the comic book down onto the counter as he waited to be noticed by either of the young men.

"Look all I'm saying is that we could try. I heard that uh, Alex Woolsly from the store down in Costa Verde knew her. Maybe we could get a hold of him; I think he's on Twitter. I could DM him and see if he has her phone number or something." Sam wasn't even looking at his co-worker as he casually thumbed through the latest issue of Marvel Zombies. All he could hear were the exasperated sounds that Frack made to pre-face his response.

"Okay, so other than the fact that your delusional crush on Claire Bennet has reached disturbing new heights—you think that she would pass up something like Dateline or like the talk show circuit to come here and do a signing event? I mean yeah, New York is higher-profile than when we were at Sam's in Kansas but still…" He chuckled derisively before Frack realized that they had a customer. He hopped off of his stool and took the comic to ring it up.

"Well yeah, I mean to most of the people who would be fans of her right now—Claire Bennet was a fictional character in a comic book before she was ever a real person. We're her people." Sam glanced up over the top of the book to look at the 9th Wonders cover art print they had put on the far wall. It was still such a trip to think that all of these people were real and out there. Frack took the Flash volume and bagged it for the customer as he shook his head at Sam's hopefulness.

"Uh-huh. Yeah. Hey, you know of Claire Bennet right? Does this guy over here have any chance to hook up with her in any lifetime, alternate universe, or multi-verse?" Sylar was given the bag as he noticed that the employee was speaking to him. It was an easy decision to make that now would not be the time for honesty.

"I think I heard something about her, but uh I don't really read comics. I'm buying this for a friend, sorry." After he got his change back and his receipt, Sylar walked to the exit and back out onto the sidewalk. When he realized that the cab ride had brought him closer to Peter's apartment, he decided that it would be a nice evening to walk through the city and let his mind just reel at what this interview segment could bring to his life.

After his third city block, Gabriel cut away down a side-street to try and get back to Peter's place before it got too dark. While he easily could defend himself using his abilities—things would be much smoother for his life if he refrained as much as possible. Just as he started moving down the alleyway, Sylar was completely blindsided by a figure whose presence only caught his eye a moment too late. The next thing he felt was a searing pain crossing over his body from his side out that brought him down to his knees before he could comprehend what had happened. The pain blocked his capacity to concentrate as he fell onto his side on the gritty pavement. Everything went black when the blood-loss became too severe from the nasty gash that had been cut into his abdomen.

Sylar slowly came to only a few minutes later, but his assailant was long gone. With both his bag and the cash in his pocket. He sighed and realized that the comic at least was still there—likely only because it had seeped up too much blood from falling out of the bag and onto the ground. It took him a few minutes to gather himself up to stand and walk away to finish making it back to Peter's apartment. Thank God it was dark enough now that no one would notice his blood-drenched shirt.

Peter bounded up the stairs of his apartment building with the Thai takeout bag clenched tightly in his fist. Maybe he shouldn't have ditched Sylar during the interview, but he didn't want to let his emotions get the better of him during their fight either. When he chose to be there for Sylar, he knew that meant he had to keep control of himself when he was around him—Sylar could easily just decide to leave. No one could know what would happen then.

After he unlocked the door and walked in, the first thing he saw was Sylar sitting at the kitchen table. The blood all over his shirt made it look at first like he'd been shot. Peter walked over quickly, the bag nearly falling from his fingers when he did.

"What happened to you? Is that…" Upon a closer inspection, Peter still couldn't tell what it was that caused so much blood. The only thing he saw was the tail end of a nasty faded scar on his side. All of his worst fears about people like them—Specials, coming out to the public, started to come to the surface.

"Did this happen because of…I mean did somebody see you use an ability, or were they waiting for you when you came out? Jesus, it wasn't Noah was it?" For a moment, Sylar stared at Peter's hand as it rested over where the wound used to be before it healed. Peter's hands were a little rougher than he'd first anticipated they would be. He sighed and shook his head as he debated if he should urge Peter's hands away from his body, or just let them stay for a while.

"No, it wasn't Noah or anyone else like him. I was mugged Peter, these things happen living in the city. I'm just lucky I am who I am, or I'd still be down there bleeding out on the ground. They took my bag…I'm sorry but the tie-clip was in it Peter." Peter shook his head and set the takeout bag onto the table.

"No it's fine, don't even worry about that. I guess if it was Noah he would have just shot you in the back of the head…" He mused on that fact for a moment as he stood up again. After everything he'd been through involving the former Company up to his own government being against him—something like a person like himself happening to get harmed made him automatically anxious. Sylar was right though, people get mugged every day. A fact that really made Peter want to get out there and _do_something with his gifts.

"Here, I know how much you like that Thai place on the corner." A quick nod to the bag before Peter sat down in the other chair at the table. Sylar smiled a little at it, Peter had a great memory and a knack for being thoughtful unlike anyone else he had ever known. This in turn, made it very difficult for Sylar to stay angry at Peter for long. The bag of red curry, spicy garlic chicken, and sticky rice was an edible apology and tangible gift. It made Sylar feel as touched as when he ran his fingers over the cool leather binding of the facsimile of his favorite novel.

"Oh. um that reminds me, I tried to pick you up something too after I left the hotel. It isn't 9th Wonders this time, I swear." Sylar opened the bag and busied himself with pulling the smaller containers out of the brown paper bag as Peter moved over to the counter where the Flash comic had been set as soon as Sylar came back to the apartment. It had gotten torn on the edges about a quarter of an inch in. There was blood on some of the pages in the front where it soaked through and a fair dusting of gritty dirt all over the spine and cover. Peter picked it up and when he did a rush of information flooded through his mind—emotions coursed through his consciousness.

With the others, it was simple enough when Peter borrowed an ability to have as his own for a while. Sylar and he's connections seemed to harbor their own set of rules. It took a couple days for Peter to figure out what was actually happening during the power transference process as he was still only getting one at a time. When he chose to take an ability from Sylar it was always the one that was last used. Though healing was obviously Sylar's most frequently used power, Peter had last used his 'touch' on the man back at the hotel. This meant that Peter currently had Sylar's clairsentience.

Sylar craned back in his chair to try and telekinetically acquire a fork from the silverware drawer now that he'd removed all the bags and found his chicken. Once he grasped the utensil in his hand and leaned forward again he looked up at Peter. He'd debated even showing it to him in its wrecked state, but he could get him another as the thought was what most important about this situation.

"I'm sorry about the condition of it. I'll get you a new one Peter. I just thought it may be nice for you to have something to put on that empty bookcase of yours." Peter hadn't moved as he held the book in his hands. As his fingertip grazed over ink and blood he felt a burning sensation in his stomach. White-hot pain seared through his flesh as he could he feel despair wash over him. Sylar had panicked as he bled out, Peter knew this now from the simple touch of the object. He knew that the man was gripped with fear of dying in that alley alone with so many burdens weighing his mind down.

"No it's fine…I'll keep this one. I can still read it, thank you." God he would have already been back at the apartment if he hadn't stopped to get the book for him. After feeling the pain Sylar went through, physically and otherwise, Peter knew he was going to keep the book around. He could use it to remind himself of Sylar being at his most thoughtful whenever the two were having their ugly past issues brought up again.

Peter went to get his own fork from the kitchen then moved back to sit and dig into the food. After his first few bites of curry he looked over at Sylar who was well more than halfway through his chicken and sticky rice containers. The dinner so far had been pretty quiet since they had both sat down but Peter was curious how it all went at the hotel.

"So, how did it go? What kinds of things did they ask about?" Sylar finished his bite of chicken and rice before he set his fork down again. He wondered if they'd get a TV and watch it when it aired. It was sort of an important thing after all, for all of them.

"I think it went well. A lot shorter than I thought it would be, but that was fine. There was less of a chance to say things that I'd regret later. He asked me to show them what I could do. So I did a few things, parlor tricks really, but it seemed to satisfy them. I guess they're doing a series of interviews with people like us. Hm and Suresh." Sylar stabbed right into a piece of chicken after he said the name as he started eating again. Peter took a few more bites of curry as he thought about what that's going to be like to see Sylar on television openly using his abilities in front of the entire World.

"I bet it felt pretty good though. For the past however long it's been, we've been forced to keep what we can do secret. I used to get this immense rush every time I'd use any ability to enhance myself. And yeah, I liked helping people, but it was also just so freeing to get to be myself out in the open for once. I don't know, maybe it's just with how I was raised I take comfort in secrets being out in the open whenever they are." Peter wondered how many things his mother still kept from him and probably always would. Sylar stopped eating as he set his fork down next to one of the open containers. He pursed his lips as he sat there completely silent before he could reply—this was never the way he intended to say what he needed to for so long.

"Not really Peter, it just…it feels like I'm creating another lie for myself. Yet another lie I can walk around with and wear like it's really me. I just—I don't know what I mean. God, I can't believe Claire made this all seem so easy." He stood up from the table and started to anxiously pace back and forth across the small front room of Peter's place. There had to be some more articulate or thoughtful way of saying what he wanted to. Especially spending all of his time with Peter over the past few days it became clear how his feelings for his former so-called nemesis had changed.

"Sylar, look I want you to know that you may have to walk outside of the door and pretend to be someone else—who doesn't? But when you're here, and when it's just us, I think it would be good for you to be able to be as honest as you want with me. People may not get why I'm doing this but I know. We went through something and I don't care if it was for five years or for five hours. You don't need to lie to me." How Peter would love to have Parkman's telepathic ability still and not have to ask Sylar what was on his mind. It felt more intrusive somehow to pry it out by asking than it would to just take a look inside and find out. Just another example of how the experiences of the past few years had changed the way Peter thought things were best handled. Sylar was not the only one who needed someone around for their own good.

"I'm not talking about things like if I have an ability, or pretending to have a different name. I-I mean something that's much more personal—something that goes against everything we've both ever been raised to believe in. Something I don't think I can say to anyone, but if I don't just say it… one day I'll wake up and feel like my entire life was built around lies instead of just a fragment of it." There had only been one person prior to Peter that he would have fathomed telling this to, but back then he didn't know this truth about himself. For years, he'd never had to face it as he worked in the suffocating environment of the shop owned by a man who barely shared his own blood in Sylar's mind. Uncle was not all that far from father true, but he and Samson were cut so much from the same cloth that Martin Gray's influence was nonexistent to Sylar now. That didn't mean the oppressive nature of his household growing up would merely disappear however. Virginia always wondered why he never met any nice girls or wanted to go out and try dating. Sure, there was the thing with Elle that came and went and came again, but it wasn't really who he was, not deep down and not like Peter managed to make him feel for those five years worth of living.

"Listen, just because I was raised Catholic doesn't mean that I'll condemn you without reason if you just tell me. I…I certainly have things I've never told anyone else, not even…not even Nathan. Or my mother or—"Before he could go on, the words spilled from Sylar's mouth in a rush of nerves and a need to let the truth be freed from his mind.

"I'm gay, Peter. I…wish there was a deeper way for me to express that, but I've never been able to think of one. A-and it's not just that—there's a reason why I wanted you to know. I've only had feelings for two men in my life. Strong, insistent urges that coursed through my veins and throughout my body anytime I was spoken to or touched. I feel like you could melt my skin sometimes Pete, even though you haven't had a power like that in a while." Sylar barely managed a smile as he looked over at the other man. God, was this a mistake like it would have been if he'd told Mohinder how he felt? He gauged a reaction from Peter as the silence in the room built to a silent crescendo of uneasiness and doubt. Both men tried to break that silence at once as their sentences collided into one another as they spoke.

"It's okay Sylar I've been with a man before—"

"I shouldn't have said anything, I can just go, it's fine Peter I'm sorry—"

They both stopped and looked at each other for a long moment as Peter's words seemed to hang in the air just a little longer than Sylar's did. Sylar had practically made his way to the door already but he stood there turned back toward the other man—not bothering to mask the shocked expression on his face. Was Peter being honest or just trying to make him feel less alone in that moment?

"You've…been with another man before. Peter, are you telling me that you're—"  
"I don't feel a need to label it. But, yeah I was. Um, he and I went through something difficult together and it made us grow close. When we made it out of that situation, there was some time that we shared together that I'm not ever going to forget. Like I said, I don't feel a need to have to label it, but I know what you're talking about Sylar." Those days in Montreal were ones that he thought about frequently when he was alone in his apartment. It was hard to accept at first that Adam had just disappeared from the face of the Earth.

There was no question that Peter was furious at what Adam thought he could make him do but, there was _something_ there that just couldn't have been all manipulation. In his darker moments, Peter would convince himself that it was that kind of unfailing optimism that would have killed nearly every single living thing on the planet should Adam have gotten what he wanted from that vault. Lately, he hadn't thought that way as much—his optimism had become a useful support for someone else, and that brought Peter an intimate sense of purpose he'd desperately missed from back before he met Adam in Hartsdale. It wasn't about powers—it was about being able to help someone else by merely being there for them.

"Oh. That's more than I've done. Well at least you're not freaked out or disgusted by me saying that. So, when are you going to get some furniture in here Peter? I mean, I don't know how you can stand seeing so much bare empty space all the time. It's as bad as being around clutter to the mind—it does things to your thoughts." Sylar was near the table again, standing with it between them as he glanced idly around Peter's apartment in an effort to keep from making eye contact. It was obvious that he was still embarrassed about having come out, as well as finding out that the younger man he was with was more experienced than he was. Peter walked around the table and stopped at Sylar's right side, his hand moved to rest on Sylar's arm.

"Don't change the subject; we were talking about something that's important here. I mean yeah, when were both in that place inside of your mind, I felt something. Of course I did, but I never knew what it was really." Sylar looked down at his arm, or more specifically, Peter's hand on his arm. He randomly thought about the first time they'd touched back in Odessa when they were on top of that stadium together. It wasn't just Peter who shoved Sylar off—they both had a hand in the fall as Sylar had gripped onto him to take him down as well when he first felt the push. Even back then, Sylar felt a charge when Peter touched him that was unlike anything else he'd experienced. Sylar even thought it was an ability at first, but he'd learned since then that this was always the case whenever that hand rested on him.

"It was gratitude at first. I don't know anyone else who would have looked at my body slumped behind an unfinished brick wall and think, 'I'm going to go save him despite the fact he's made my life Hell numerous times'. And then I went through all of the emotions I'd expected to when stuck in a World alone with you. Anger, bitterness, guilt, shame, and eventually I…I felt lust. Lust became something more real, it became affection. This probably isn't anything you want to hear, is it? I thought about you while you stayed up nights trying to break that wall down. How much I wished you'd put the sledgehammer down, and just come back to my apartment and sleep there for a night. You never did. I convinced myself that you'd never want anything to do with me in that way once we were out."

Peter gripped Sylar's arm and the last word was stopped when he leaned down to press his lips to Sylar's own. He'd wondered if they were soft or firm and found that they were firm while he kissed them. Sylar's body tensed up as he sat there but he didn't dare move or try to speak again as he felt Peter's surprisingly soft lips massage his own. It was impossible to keep his tongue from exploring those lips as Sylar pressed up against him more. Sylar moaned softly and found himself sucking a little on Peter's lower lip as he broke the kiss. Sylar pressed his forehead against Peter's own as he panted out a few short breaths.

"I want you Peter. I want it to be you, the first time." Peter tilted his chin up and kissed Sylar again before he took a step back from him. Both men's hearts were racing in their chests as they thought about what was next.

"Here, let's move over to the bedroom and have it be comfortable. It hurts like Hell the first time, I won't lie and you heal now. I did back then so you have to be careful during." Peter walked across the room and through the blue French doors that separated his bedroom from the rest of the apartment. He left them both open as he waited for Sylar to follow him inside. There was a hint of trepidation from Sylar as before this moment he had only previously dared to cross that threshold to use the one tiny bathroom the apartment had. God how he'd wished for another one in the apartment so he wouldn't have to even for a moment step into the most private corner of the place—the temptation to start looking at the few spare items housed within the room's walls was a great one. Sylar went ahead and stripped off his shirt on the walk from the table into Peter's bedroom—he didn't think it was too forward to do at this point as it was mostly shredded from where he was attacked anyway. Besides, he still had the wife-beater on and it had only a few spots of blood to be found on the material.

Peter tore his blankets off of the bed so only sheets covered the mattress and box spring that replaced the normal bed that had been gone when he came back to his place long after his attempted incarceration by the United States government. So many of his things were gone, but by the time he returned home again Peter decided to simplify his life by reclaiming only the barest of possessions. Part of him wondered initially if the air hockey table Nathan had bought him when he first moved in could be found wherever Nathan kept himself those days, but he never found out. Peter sat down and pulled off his shoes before Sylar entered the room in order to avoid the seriously awkward attempts at getting them off while in the throes of passion. Hopping and stumbling around would certainly kill the mood. When he stood up again, Peter was right in front of Sylar as the man had just walked into the bedroom—both of the French doors clicked shut behind him.

"So, is there a certain way we should be doing this or—"

After a step forward to close the gap between their bodies, Peter's hands were on Sylar's hips to pull him in for a kiss. Peter's tongue slid past Sylar's lips as he twisted and sucked against the other man's tongue. Both of their hands found themselves sliding and plucking at fabric and buttons. Sylar moaned when Peter's fingers began to unbutton and unzip the pants Sylar had worn during the interview. Soon those pants had been urged free of Sylar's hips and had collapsed down at his ankles. Peter took a step back as Sylar bent over to try and pull his shoes off. Sure enough, he hopped around twice as he struggled to pull the fabric of his pants away enough to glimpse his shoes again to see what he what was he doing enough to remove them. Peter watched him with a soft chuckle and a slight grin as he stood there and watched.

"See, that's why I took mine off first." The second shoe dropped to the floor and Sylar stepped out of his pants shortly thereafter. He raised his hand with a smirk and Peter found his body pulled backward and thrown back onto his mattress. His body landed and rumpled the sheets underneath as he tried to move again but found he couldn't budge. Sylar's eyes remained locked on Peter's body as he walked forward—he climbed onto the bed and over to Peter's trapped body. Sylar took advantage of Peter's helpless state enough to kneel down at his side and take the other man's lips into a kiss that he could control. One hand stroked Peter's side as the other worked at getting his pants undone and off. Peter gasped when Sylar dropped the telekinetic hold of his body. He shimmied and kicked out of his pants carefully while Sylar's lips lingered against his own. Peter leaned against Sylar more so he could sit up and let his fingers curl underneath the bottom of Sylar's wifebeater-style undershirt in order to pull it off in between what had become a series of kisses between both men. His fingers caressed the winding scar that stretched along the front right side of Sylar's stomach and around his hip as he spoke softly—he could feel Sylar's body twitch whenever it was gently touched.

"It's incredible that you even survived something like this. I mean, I've seen people when I was on the job die from much less, Sylar." Peter's fingers kept trailing up and down the scar which continued to give Sylar a tingling sensation along his spine each time. He looked into Peter's eyes as he slipped the man's shirt off over his head. Again, he leaned in for a kiss as both men were now only in their boxers and socks. Peter dragged his left foot along Sylar's leg—fabric clung to dark curly leg hairs as he brushed that foot back and forth against Sylar's leg.

"Mmm, multiple surgeries and my fair share of luck, I guess. I was so sure it would disappear when I could heal, but it didn't work that way, did it?" Sylar tilted his chin down to watch Peter's fingers move from the scar over his hipbones and then finally crook and latch onto the waistband of Sylar's boxers as they were pulled down by Peter's hands. It made Sylar flinch once his boxers were down enough to expose his erection, but after Peter placed his hand on his hip and leaned in for another passionate kiss, Sylar calmed himself again.

"Here, let me grab something from the bathroom real quick. Just get comfortable and I'll be right back." Another peck on Sylar's lips before Peter untangled their legs and half rolled off of the bed as he moved into the bathroom. Soon, the sound of cabinets and drawers being opened and closed could be heard by Sylar as he tried to decide what the best way to position himself was going to be. Peter walked back into the bedroom just as Sylar had lay down flat on his stomach with his cheek against the pillow. The faint sound of a cap being unscrewed from a container made Sylar push himself to sit up again as he glanced back at what Peter held while the lid idly hit the floor and rolled across.

"Is that…"

"Vaseline. I don't have anything better, but this is going to help a lot. Just trust me, and it'll feel better the first time if you hold and brace yourself on something." His fingers dug into the viscous substance as Sylar got up onto his knees and braced his palms against the windowsill. He gazed out at the view of the city that created both men—helped form them into who they were today. There was every chance in the World that they could have been to the same stores, the same coffee shops, and even on the same subway routes without ever knowing the other was there before that fateful day in Texas. The mattress shifted a little as Peter knelt down and scooted behind Sylar carefully.

"This is probably going to feel weird at first, but trust me you'll thank me later." Fingertips slid along the curve of flesh as he carefully rubbed the Vaseline around Sylar's entrance—his free hand gripped onto Sylar's hip to keep the man in place as much as he could. Initially, Sylar did try to buck at the strange gooey sensation on his sensitive flesh but at least the Vaseline had warmed some from being on Peter's fingers first. After a few careful ministrations, Sylar felt Peter slide his finger inside of him as he gripped onto the windowsill a little tighter. A low groan echoed out from his throat as Peter worked on lubing and stretching that resistant ring of muscle so it wouldn't hurt Sylar too badly in a moment—Peter didn't believe there was a need for it to be more painful than it had to be for him. If only Adam would have thought the same that first time. Peter leaned back onto his legs as he slid his boxers off and threw them across the room. He ran his hand over his own cock a few times with the remnants of Vaseline that coated his fingers before he positioned his tip right at Sylar's entrance.

Soft panting breaths hitched as Peter pressed the head of his cock into Sylar's body—the lubricated state of his entrance made it easier to push further in right away. Sylar's voice caught in his throat as he moaned from the motion Peter made behind him. His fingers were going to turn white from how hard he gripped the windowsill—body pushing forward a little so his back arched up as Peter continued to guide himself in. There was a pause as Peter stopped to catch his breath, holding onto Sylar's hips as his thumbs rubbed around the point of his hipbones in small gentle circles. Sylar groaned deeply as his body leaned closer to the window.

"W-what are you doing? Don't stop Peter just keep going—I'm fine." His lithe body stretched his back out straight as his knees dug into the mattress. Sylar pressed his cheek against the cool glass of the window as Peter's grip on his hips tightened again. This time his groan broke into more of a shout as Peter forced his way deeper past that ring of muscle—all while keeping Sylar's body as still as he could. His fingers spread out to feel Sylar's ribs as the man in front of him took deep, quick breaths and it stretched the skin over his ribs enough that Peter's fingertips could glide along the curves of them as he pushed then withdrew for the first time. Sylar's cheek remained against the window as he panted out his breaths as Peter carefully started up a slow rhythm—thrusting his way in and out of Sylar's entrance so that all of the nerves in that very sensitive tissue would become stimulated. Strong sensations of pleasure fought against the sharp pain of each thrust, but Sylar fought through that pain as he moaned against the glass of the window—blurry clouds of condensation appeared and disappeared just as quickly when his warm breath puffed onto the cold glass.

"You feel…You feel amazing, I can't stop feeling your body and watching how it reacts Sylar. Taut…lean… special…" Peter pumped his hips and sped up the occurrences of his thrusts as he reached around Sylar and simply dragged a finger along the length of Sylar's aroused cock. Though, he was dragging it along the vein of the underside of Sylar's cock, and that was enough to make Sylar curse as he continued to rub his cheek against the glass. As they went on—both of their bodies were close enough together to move as one; biological mechanism such as their breathing and heart-rate synced up to arrive at the same pace. Peter leaned over to press his lips against Sylar's spine and lay kisses along the column of bone and flesh just as he dexterously moved his fingers to grip around Sylar's cock—tugging and stroking him rough enough to make the tip leak from those motions.

Peter rolled his eyes up in a moment of absolute ecstasy as he bucked forward and felt himself start to pulse and throb inside of Sylar's body. He knew it wouldn't be much longer until he reached his climax. Peter's grunted out a low guttural sound as he moved his lips over by Sylar's ear as he rocked his hips over and over against the other man.

"I-I'm going to…Soon…I can pull out before I do though, Sylar" The name was a sharp whisper as Peter's hand continued jerking and tugging Sylar's cock until he began to mercilessly toy with the sensitive tip. All Sylar could do was embarrassingly snort—it even made his body blush more in addition to the heat his skin already felt from the exertion of the act. He closed his eyes and clenched his jaw once.

"Stay where you are Peter, s-stay here with me don't move." Not a moment after he said that, Peter smiled a little—bangs in one eye, as he brought himself to his climax inside of Sylar's body. Both men moaned loudly as Peter rocked against Sylar's body to ride out the waves of pleasure his orgasm brought for both men. Sylar gasped and moaned softly again as Peter's hand brought him off to a climax of his own. Both men stayed there for a moment after as they tried to collect their breath and just felt all of the ways the nerves in their bodies sizzled their synapses from the messages of pure pleasure. Peter was the first to move again as he carefully pulled himself out of Sylar's body with another deep grunt. He rolled onto the other side of the bed and lay there as Sylar slowly turned around. A mess had been made on his stomach and a little on the sheets but Sylar couldn't bring himself to care as he rested on his side and watched Peter lay next to him. Many things could have been said in that moment ranging from immense sincere gratitude to nervous self-deprecation, but neither man felt the need to ruin this particular pause as they stayed silent for what felt like hours.

"I'm going to get a water, do you want one?" Peter broke the silence first as he sat up and glanced over at Sylar on the right side of the bed. He nodded quietly and Peter smiled softly as he got off of the bed and went out of the room to the kitchen. He opened the fridge up and grabbed a pair of bottled waters he held by the caps snug between his fingers as he headed back to the bedroom. On the way, he stopped and glanced at the comic book that Sylar had bought for him. Peter took it with his free hand and walked back to the bedroom. As he went to hand off the water to Sylar, he found that the other man was sound asleep—snoring a little as he lay there. Peter chuckled and set the water on a stand by Sylar's side of the bed. He leaned down and kissed his lips gently before walking around to his side of the bedroom.

Peter set the comic book down where a few other books were on a small shelf on the left wall of the room before he sat down on the bed again. Half of the water was gone from the bottle before it was placed onto the floor nearby his makeshift bed and he slid his legs under the covers. Peter draped his arm around Sylar and held him close as he closed his eyes to rest his cheek against the other man's arm. With a flick of his wrist—and a charge of energy that occurred during the act itself—the French doors closed shut as Peter fell asleep against Sylar's warm body.


End file.
